


Like Pompeii

by AnxiousCoffee (TheHallowedAngel)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caring Ian Gallagher, Gen, Overdosing, Sickfic, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Vomit, Vomiting, Whump, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHallowedAngel/pseuds/AnxiousCoffee
Summary: In which Lip Gallagher can't handle it anymore and he works himself up to the final step, but of course Ian has to come along and help him back down again.





	Like Pompeii

**Author's Note:**

> Serious trigger warning for suicide attempts, overdosing, forced vomiting etc. No one dies and there's no hospitals involved, but still.

Lip, as a rule, never even let suicide cross his mind if he knew someone else was suffering because of the situation or issue that was making him feel like shit. But now he was sat on the hood of some wasted car in a ditch a little out of his way home, four packets of painkillers in one hand and a 2 litre bottle of the cheapest brand of alcohol he could find in the other. It was one of those plastic ones, kind of like a misshapen coke bottle, and Lip grimaced each time he took a swig from it.

He’d had to go to two separate stores to get the pills, thanks to that dumb two-per-buyer rule they had in place now- which Lip would have understood, were he not buying with a permanent outcome in mind. He always understood things, he tried to think as rationally and neutrally as possible, it helped to have a level head when entering into any choice or obstacle, but he couldn’t muster the strength to do that right now.

The first box provided a bit of a struggle when it came to opening the damn thing, the little flaps catching on each other and leaving Lip with no other option than to rip the top to get them out. Two sheets of 8 in each box, four boxes all together, that made 64. 

64 was enough to kill him, provided he could keep himself from throwing them up again.

These weren’t the capsules, sadly, meaning that as he threw them into his mouth 4 or 5 at a time they left this bitter taste on the back of his tongue, and chasing them down with the cheap booze was only helping so much. By the time he got down to the last sheet in the last box, well he was grateful. More than grateful, really, and had he needed anymore to guarantee a success he would have just given up and gone home for the night.

Should he have told anyone? They were going to worry about where he was, and when it started to get dark and he hadn’t gotten home yet because he was laid dead in the dying grass at the side of the road, they would probably gather together and decide that they needed to all go out and find him. They would probably leave Debbie at home with Liam, which was a comfort to Lip. Debbie didn’t need to see this and Liam would get upset when everyone else started to cry.

And they would, Lip knew they cared about him enough to be shattered by this, by finding his body all the way out here- assuming it was them and not some random drunk guy who would steal his clothes. Maybe he should have written a note to explain. Maybe he should have chosen a spot further away, or even somewhere in the middle of nowhere, so he would never be found and they would never know and they would all spend the rest of their lives thinking he just ran off somewhere because he couldn’t cope with it anymore.

Couldn’t cope with them.

But then Ian’s head of orange hair walked around the side of the car, eyes catching sight of the empty boxes and crumpled sheets, far too new to have been left by anyone else. And Lip watched as his face dropped, changing from that smile of his to something more like disappointment or pain, and as Ian slowly brought his gaze up to meet his, Lip looked away, feeling tears well up in his eyes without permission.

“Did you take all of those now?” Ian barely found the voice to ask, but Lip heard him well enough for the words to sit heavy in his chest, squeezing all the air out of his lungs and stopping his heart dead after the next beat. After a few moments he nodded, holding his breath and waiting for everything to fall apart.

It didn’t though. Ian just took the bottle from his hand, picked up the cap and screwed it back into place, throwing it off somewhere to the side. Lip couldn’t find the energy to be mad about it, it was almost empty anyways, so he just settled for staring at the various dents in the metal in front of his crossed legs.

“We can’t afford the medical bills.” Ian said simply, though he didn’t need to because they both already knew that. They’ve never really had insurance, the only kids who did were Carl, Debbie and Liam, because they just couldn’t afford to pay for any more.

“You should go home, tell them all I’ve taken off or something.” Lip didn’t put too much effort into talking, it was like he had left his voice wherever he had left his better judgement. Ian quietly hauled himself up onto the hood next to Lip, staring at the shaking hands Lip was trying to hide in his lap. He was pulling at a loose thread attached to the inside hem of his trouser-leg, wrapping it around the tip of his finger and letting the end go this horrible purple colour before unraveling it and starting again.

Ian reached over and slapped the back of Lip’s hand.

“You need to throw them up.”

“Actually, medical professionals say you’re not meant to make people throw up if they overdose, they can choke on their own vomit.” there was that usual gusto to his voice, that tone that just told you he knew what he was talking about, that dared you to test his knowledge. But his eyes were still dull, unfocused, and he was frowning at the back of the hand that Ian had smacked.

“That’s only for those who’re unconscious, you’re just as alert as always, and just as much of a smart-ass. Stick your fingers down your throat and get them out of your stomach.”

Lip, for a while, just stayed quiet, trying to act like the world around him wasn’t there. But he could feel Ian staring at him and it was starting to make the bottoms of his feet itch.

“You know,” he began, looking up to meet Ian’s eyes for the first time since his younger brother had gotten there, “Maybe I don’t want to.”

That left Ian speechless, hanging onto the end of the sentence by the skin of his teeth and the hope that it was just a sick joke with terrible timing. But Lip didn’t smile, he didn’t even shake his head or look away or give any other indication that he was joking. Ian fought with his tongue to string the words together, but somewhere between his brain and his mouth they just fell apart into silent letters and good intentions.

“I just can’t do it anymore, Ian. I can’t get up every day and go to school knowing I’ve only got to go back there and deal with that fucking house. It’s draining, you know? I can’t take anymore of Frank’s bullshit or the out-of-date food or the stress of wondering when the money is going to have to stretch so far it fucking snaps. I just need to get out, and I don’t think I could ever run far enough to get away from the smell of this town.” There were those tears again, but this time they were pouring down his face and setting his skin on fire, the pain second only to the cramping in his gut. Ian found himself choking up, but he refused himself the right to cry over someone else’s pain.

“Just not like this.” Lip almost missed it, if he was honest, because Ian threw the words out right as Lip’s chest heaved and his lungs pulled a breath in without asking him, but they shot through the air and clung to him, pulling the skin away from his very bones.

“Then what do you suppose I fucking do? Huh? Just keep going like none of this shit matters? Because I’ve been doing that for 12 years, Ian, 12 fucking years, and I’m tired. It’s fine when you’re as young and clueless as Liam or Carl, or even Debbie, but we know everything that’s going on, and maybe you’re gifted enough to push it all to the back of your head or just ignore the blatant signs that shit isn’t as good as it seems, but I can’t do that. Fiona can talk to V or her other friends, she has this picture-perfect support system laid out in front of her to fall into and get all comfy, what do I have? Who do I have?” Tears were running under Lip’s chin now, and the sound of them hitting the ground after he threw himself off of the car echoed through Ian’s head, hitting every sensitive part the sound could find.

And Ian snapped, that fragile image of a boy unscathed shattered into a million pieces as his feet slammed against the grass and his knees shook with the very understanding of what exactly it was that Ian was about to say.

“You have me!” he shouted, screamed, as loud as his lungs would provide the power for, and Lip found himself choking on whatever words he could have said next, because there it all was. Everything Ian was feeling, everything he had tucked behind the wardrobe with his gay porn and that new book Kash had bought him last week, right out in the open for Lip to see, for Lip to feel.

For a moment nothing was said, not much was even heard, just the sound of the two of them fighting to breathe through the thickening sense of just how fucked up all of this was. How fucked up they were. 

Somewhere during this pause Ian had come to the realisation that he was the only one that could get Lip through this, and he was the only one who could ever know about this, he had to do something. He drew an arm back, clenched his fist, and then swung straight for the spot just above Lip’s navel. Ian had heard all these horror stories where someone had been punched in the gut and ended up in hospital with internal bleeding due to lacerations or something, but what else could he do?

-

Lip felt everything slow down as his insides turned in all the wrong ways, the pain and the guilt and the crushing regret surging up his throat along with all of the off-brand aspirin he’d slipped through his teeth and forced down his gullet. And he watched it all splatter against his shoes and Ian’s shoes and everything else within a three foot radius of him. 

And it burnt. All of it pouring out of his mouth with heave after painful heave, each retch dropping him closer to the ground until the gravel under the grass started to bite the skin on his knees despite the layer of fabric separating him and the earth.

Ian took one deep breath and bit his tongue and walked around to put a hand between Lip’s shoulder blades to work careful circles into his spine. Grateful for the contact, Lip relaxed just enough to give Ian more space to work.

Both of them were shocked to see just how many of the tablets were still almost whole, sat leering at them from amongst the beer and bits of food and stomach lining, but all the same Ian found himself relaxing. They mustn’t have been in his stomach for long enough to do much real damage, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

-

“I fucking hate you.” Lip rasped, blowing the strings of bile and snot from his nose and then clearing his mouth. Ian shook his head and refused himself the right to laugh.

“Yeah well, I love you too. And I wouldn’t have had to do that if you did it yourself.”

“What?” Lip started, daring to turn his head enough to look over his shoulder, “Punched myself in the gut?”

Ian tried to ignore the sick that clung to his chin, but Lip dragged his sleeve across his face before Ian could have commented.

“No, dickhead- nevermind. Just get up, would you? We need to get home before Debs and Carl get back from whatever poor extra-curricular programme accepted them.” he would have offered Lip a hand if he thought he would take it, but no one knew Lip as well as he did and Ian knew for a fact he would get a slap if he tried to help him to his feet.

-

When they got through the door it was just Steve sat in the kitchen, reading a book and stirring coffee with one of the cleaner spoons they had in the house. He was oddly funny about that, but Ian had always supposed it was because Steve wasn’t as used to it all, this state of living that is. 

“Evening.” Steve looked up from his page with an indifferent face, not giving much thought to the grey sheen on Lip’s skin. Neither of the boys replied, Ian too busy shoving Lip up the stairs and Lip too busy getting shoved.

If it was just Steve in the kitchen then who knows where Fiona was, all the better for keeping this under the rug. Ian remembered reading somewhere online that you were meant to feed people burnt toast if they try to overdose, not that he knew why, but it was his only shot. Ian only stopped pushing him when Lip almost tripped over the top step.

“Now what, Florence Nightingale?” 

“Now you’re going to wait here in the bathroom while I go and make you some toast, some really, really burnt toast.” Ian clapped him on the back with an open hand and snorted as Lip shuddered, but he didn’t protest and that was enough of a go-ahead for him.

Steve was watching him with those interested eyes of his, the ones he saved for special occasions and for when Fiona wore those panties that rode just high enough above her hips that you could see them when she bent over.

“What’s up with Lip?” oh and the interested eyes were paired with that interested voice, lovely.

“He tried to down a whole bottle of that gross watery beer they sell at the newsagents down the road, you know the one that’s like two bucks for a two litre bottle? Threw up everywhere. Do I smell like puke? I think he got some on me.” Ian had a wonderful way of tossing words into the air like it was nothing, not that he enjoyed lying but it came in handy when you were covering up, say, your brother’s attempted overdose.

“Sounds nasty, wish I was there to see it. Did you record it?” 

“No, don’t have a phone. Where’s Fiona?”

“She’s at school, Debbie and Carl have this showcase to show off what they made, or something like that. She took Liam with her.” Steve shrugged and Ian nodded his head, scanning the room.

“Cool. Do we have any bread?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope, I threw it away earlier because it was more mould than anything else.” he offered a small gesture towards the bin, and Ian made a small noise of triumph before he dug the bag out. Steve, disgusted, pulled a face, and Ian shrugged.

“I’m toasting it anyway, it’ll be fine. Heat kills mould, basic science.”

With a flourish, he pulled out the two slices that seemed to be the least green and slipped them into the toaster they borrowed- kinda -from Kev and V, cranking it up as much as it would go and then throwing the rest of the loaf in the bin. Steve, thankfully, didn’t say much else, and Ian would forever be grateful.

-

Lip was mostly done with the second slice before he decided he couldn’t force anymore of it down his throat, he could feel every last crumb of this charcoal clinging to the lining of his esophagus and if he was honest it tasted way worse than any burnt toast he had ever had before. Ian watched him struggle with what was left in his mouth for a few more moments before he gave up, lifted the toilet seat, and spat it out into the water.

“Fuck that, I’ll just die.” he groaned into the bowl, refusing to straighten back up again until he could swallow without it feeling like he had sandpaper lining his innards. Ian settled himself onto the rim of the bath, leaning his arm on the sink.

“I should probably mention that the bread is like a week out of date.” it was said as a passing comment, but Ian had an ulterior motive. Lip shrugged.

“And? There’s cans in the cupboard from like 1997.”

“Yeah but this bread was really mouldy, I had to dig through half of what was left before I got those slices out, and even then there was barely any white left.” Ian spoke into his hand, and the reaction he got was so immediate it actually made him jump.

Lip gave a shuddering heave, a horrid sound that bounced around the bathroom and shook Ian’s very bones, and he coughed on all of the nothing that came up. Another heave had a small mouthful of chewed up toast and bile falling into the water, and the third brought up a scratching wave of the stuff. 

For a while he was just retching over the soiled water, not bringing up much more than the odd trickle of stomach acid, trying desperately to draw in a breath somewhere in the chaos. Ian was rubbing his back again, but this time he shrugged off the hands working on his muscles, glaring at him through the corner of his eye.

“I’m going to kick your fucking teeth in.” Lip growled, coughing and spluttering, and Ian was almost certain he would.


End file.
